


Poker Face

by cocaineblues



Category: Eyeshield 21
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-28
Updated: 2013-11-28
Packaged: 2018-01-02 21:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cocaineblues/pseuds/cocaineblues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poker — hell, life, had taught him that when confronted with conflicting emotions or an unwanted situation, the best thing to do was bluff your way out of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poker Face

"I've been looking all over for you!" 

Hiruma winced, his shoulders tensed. _Fucking manager_. He could count on her to — without fail— ruin his night with her insistent nagging and aggressive, almost _motherly_ way of antagonizing him. He didn't bother to look at her, electing to survey his company instead. Four men occupied at the table, all balding, old, beer-gut middle class geezers.

"What do you want?" Hiruma asked, irritably. 

_Couldn't she just leave him alone?_

Apparently not. Because Mamori was not like other girls. Or more precisely, not like other people. Most people ran away from him, and tried as hard as they could not to cross his path. But instead Mamori _ran_ at him, full force.

And he had to admit, she had balls. Figuratively speaking, of course.

To Hiruma's own chagrin, he actually admired her for it. _Admire_. Was that even the right word for it? Irritation was the first word he connected to her, but underneath that, there was something else. Something that warmed him to the core of his being. Something tender, even. Something he wasn't willing to fully, or consciously, acknowledge.

Mamori had already threaded her way towards their dingy corner of the bar, and without even looking at her, he could feel her blue eyes burning into the back of his head. It was like she actually _wanted_ to burn a hole into his head.

"Gambling?" She hissed, "What are you thinking, Hiruma?"

Hiruma grimaced, his dark eyes flashed up briefly to inspect the faces of the other men, before dropping back to the cards in his deck. _Not bad_. It was a decent hand, and judging from the looks on his companions faces, he had a decent shot of raking in the pot. 

"It's our ticket out of here, how else do you think we're going to come up with the money?" He snorted, and then promptly raised at the nagging of the man on his right. 

"Now," Hiruma murmured, glancing coolly over his shoulder, "is that all you came here for?"

Mamori appeared to look indignant, her eyes burning, flaying him with palpable irritation. And then her eyes dropped, the fire in her eyes extinguished, as her features — soft and delicate with big blue eyes and a small, sharp chin — shifted slightly. Her dark eyebrows were drawn together, forming a small, nearly invisible, crease between her eyebrows. A sliver of her teeth showed through the pink flesh of her lips as she bit down on it.

She looked agitated, but a different sort of agitation.

Like she was actually fucking worried or something. 

"No," Mamori finally muttered, looking away briefly to inspect the dingy window to her right. It was too dirty to see much of anything.

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay, too. It's late." 

It _was_ late. It was three in the morning, and the rest of the team were probably still asleep. Except for Mamori, who'd probably spent all night worrying, worrying, worrying. She looked like hell. 

Back then, it would have brought him joy to see her like that. But now it only made him feel a little guilty, and just the _teensiest_ bit touched. But only a little.

A beat or two passed between them before Hiruma finally turned away from her, huffing.

"You don't need to fucking worry about me. Worry about yourself, fucking manager."

He felt a sharp smack on the back of his head, and he turned quickly to glare at her.

"Would you please stop calling me that? I have a name!" She glared back at him. 

"If she's bothering ya, I can take your hands off her for a nice price," the man on his left sneered, flinty eyes staring lasciviously at Mamori.

A round of catcalls and offers ensued around the table. The men weren't joking. It wasn't just harmless (but creepy) flirting, they were serious. They actually thought she could be pimped out. 

Although he tried to ignore it, he was conscious (annoyingly so) of the way the men were staring at Mamori. Like she was a piece of meat. Really, that was how most men looked at her anyway, but these guys were drunk and seemed like the kind of guys who didn't take no for an answer. Now the old Hiruma would have taken advantage of this situation. He would have kept her around just to distract the men, but it was different this time. This time, it actually bothered him. The mere fact that it bothered him bothered him even more. 

Now he had to get her away from these creeps, but without making it seem like he cared or anything. 

_Fuck. Just when things were getting good._

As a rule, Hiruma always made sure his feelings never showed. Poker — hell, _life_ , had taught him that when confronted with conflicting emotions or an unwanted situation, the best thing to do was bluff your way out of it.

"She's really not worth it. She's terrible in bed," Hiruma insisted, feigning a yawn. He stood up, turned to Mamori and grabbed her hand, giving it a sharp squeeze just as she started to protest. He silently warned her to keep her mouth shut, before turning back to the men at the table, he held his hand out, "I'm calling it a night, so pay up."

The men grumbled, begged for one more round, but Hiruma wasn't listening anymore and they knew there was no point in trying. They paid him and then he was off, taking Mamori by her hand. 

They were three blocks away from their hotel when Hiruma noticed he was still holding her hand. It felt soft and warm against his. It was a nice feeling, and maybe he would have continued to hold her hand if he hadn't become frighteningly conscious of it. He let go of her hand abruptly and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. 

 

"Your poker face isn't as great as you think it is," Mamori commented, as they piled into the elevator.

"Not according to my wallet," Hiruma sneered, patting his left jean pocket. He could still feel the warm and tender glow of winning a game of poker. Or was it from holding her hand?

Maybe it was just the post-win buzz from earlier, but Hiruma broke his usual code of conduct— which generally entailed treating her rudely, or tacking on obscenities to her name— by walking her to her door. It didn't go unnoticed, and Mamori smiled at him.

"Thanks for walking me back."

"Don't get any ideas, fucking manager. I was just making sure you didn't lose your keys or anything," Hiruma grumbled. Which was partially the reason he'd walked her to her room. He didn't need her pounding at his door, begging him to help her find her misplaced keys (which was a frequent occurrence). But the reason was mostly due to the fact that his room was next door, and he'd have had to pass by her anyway. That and he was feeling a little charitable from the post-win buzz.

He waited until she got the door open, which took longer than it should have because it took her fucking ages to locate the keys in her purse. And she couldn't get the keys to fit into the lock because her hands kept shaking ("I can feel you staring at me! I can't concentrate with you staring at me!"). 

And then— 

"Wait, Hiruma!"

He turned back to her. She was still standing by her partially opened doorway, smiling her stupid smile at him.

"What?" He snapped, feeling a jolt in his stomach.

"Come here, I have something for you," she ushered him, impatient.

He walked back to her, scowling. He couldn't help but feel a little curious, and a little bit nervous. She stepped forward, shortening the space between them. She looked at him straight in the eye and held it. He couldn't move, and he couldn't break her gaze. 

_What the hell was she doing?_

She took another step towards him. She was so close, he could have kissed her. If he wanted, that is.

And then she reached up and pinched his right earlobe. Hiruma cursed, pushing her hand away. And he actually thought she was going to _kiss_ him. Or something.

"That's what you get for insulting me!" 

Hiruma rubbed his ear, trying to remember what exactly he'd said to insult her.

"You said I was bad in bed," Mamori clarified.

Now he remembered.

"Actually I said you were _terrible_ in bed," Hiruma corrected her. He stepped forward, his lips quirking into a devilish smile. "Unless, you want to prove me wrong on that."

"Shut up! I would nev— Just... Goodnight Hiruma!" He caught the flustered look on her face just before she disappeared into her room and closed the door.

He stood there, smiling at her door for a long time.

 

###### Notes:

This is my first Eyeshield 21 fanfic, and I really do love the Hiruma/Mamori pairing! I don't really feel like this did any justice to them, but it's my first time. Also, I'm really sorry if they're out of character! I haven't watched the anime or read the manga in a while. Disclaimer: Again, I do not own Eyeshield 21 and this is not for profit.


End file.
